But It Happened to Me! Who Fucking Cares?

Women like to argue.  They love it because it’s one of the few things in life where fucking up at it gets you more.

Take pies for example.  If you go into a restaurant and try to serve the waitresses a pie with your face they’re probably not going to serve you another one.

Arguing is different.  The less listening (women refer to this as “not talking”) you do, the more you get to do it.  For women it’s like a pint that’s got a treasure map to a free pint on the bottom.  Holy shit, I wonder if that’s patented.

Of the many ways women argue too stupidly to fathom, this is my least favorite:

But it happened to me!  And this is how I feel about it!

What am I supposed to do with that?  It sounds and looks like a useless piece of shit, but the look on her face says it’s something wonderfully impressive.  Like some kind of artwork.  Women are the opposite of magicians.  They do nothing and look fucking astounded whereas a magician will make your face disappear and look like the smuggest prick in the universe.

That’s why women make shitty magicians.  That and they hate little kids.

If you want to see the Me, Me, Me Defense in action, try engaging a group of women in an abortion argument.  If you’re in the right part of town — any part of town that’s out after 10PM — you can bet your ass half of them will have “had it happen to them.”

Somehow letting a man pay for an abortion makes a woman an expert on the subject.  That reminds me of the time I opened a dental practice after I let my parents pay for a cavity filling when I was eight years old.  Or it least it would if I was a woman and tooth decay was a fetus.

Having it happen to you doesn’t give you any extra say.  All men know that.  That’s why a man calls another man when he ends up in prison for some reason.  That’s why men call lawyers instead of their mothers or their dumb as fuck best friend when another man has kicked the crap out of them.

Women don’t.  It’s the dumbest, most manipulative, and egotistical debate tactic that could ever be imagined. I hesitate to even call it a tactic because it’s so retarded, but it does qualify in the same way women barely qualify for everything else.

So it is a tactic, and that means you can use it.  Keep it in your man bag.  Every woman jumps on the Me, Me, Me Defense like it’s a bar tender.

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